


Now When the Rain Falls

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Drama, Fluff, Hogwarts Era, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-25
Updated: 2006-07-25
Packaged: 2018-10-27 17:05:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10813197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: A summer storm reminds Hermione of a night in her childhood that at one time brought her comfort. Now after the events of sixth year she is searching for that comfort again and finally finds it by sharing the secret of that long ago night.





	Now When the Rain Falls

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

The rain drilled against the roof of the house. The relentless assault had begun earlier in the evening with a soft cooling drizzle, and picked up in intensity as the night went on. She had loved the sounds of storms for years; the rain hitting the window seemed melodic, and she knew she could listen to it for hours, letting it lull her to sleep slowly, like a mother’s lullaby.   


  
However, she didn’t have time to lie and listen to the storm; any spare moments that she had now needed to be used productively. And since it seemed that her thoughts were preventing sleep tonight, she ought to continue reading about Ravenclaw.  


  
She had always known __Hogwarts: a History__ would come in handy. She’d been spouting off facts from it since she was eleven. It didn’t matter how many times she combed through the book, she always seemed to find a new fact or insight into the school she loved so much. When Harry first told her that the Horcruxes were most likely associated with the founders she had raced up the staircase to her room and grabbed the book off her nightstand and returned to give the boys what they later referred to as a ‘lecture’ on each of the founders.   


  
The story of the founders had always fascinated her. When she first got her Hogwarts letter, she wasn’t sure about the new world she was about to enter. The meetings with her parents and Professor McGonagall had been overwhelming and her first trip to Diagon Alley had been like something out of a dream. Everything was so foreign to her. Instead of shopping for paper, pens, and a school uniform she was shopping for robes, potion ingredients, quills and parchment, and most important, her wand. After hours of wandering and exploring her new world she finally found something that seemed as familiar as an old friend: books. She entered Flourish  & Blott’s with reverence and anticipation. Her eyes brightened as she scanned the shelves and she was overwhelmed by the many tomes that now lay at her fingertips. While her parents employed a clerk to help her find the books on her list, Hermione took advantage of their absence and ever-watchful eyes and escaped into the rows of books.   


  
All she needed was one book to help her understand the world that she was about to enter, one book that would make her feel not so out of place, just one book that would open her new life to her. She wandered the shelves for several minutes taking in one title after another. She already had three books in her arms when one another title jumped out at her. After placing her stack carefully on the floor she retrieved __An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe__ and began to scan through the pages before adding it to her pile. As she bent over to retrieve the others, her eyes stopped on a book that she hadn’t seen before. The moment she opened __Hogwarts: a History__ she knew she’d found the book that would unlock the secrets to her new life.   


  
After her first reading, she was amazed with the founders’ story; it enthralled her the way that they had seemed to put aside all their own personal agendas and do something that would benefit the Wizarding World for ages. She wanted to be part of that world, needed to be part of that world. A world where she would finally fit in, where she wasn't different from everyone. She had drank in every word of the book, thinking that if she at least knew the story of Hogwarts she might be on the same level as her classmates; she would really fit in this new world she was entering. With a wry grin she remembered her surprise when she found that no one else seemed to know the stories, and when she would try to bring them up in conversation those around her quickly changed the subject to Quidditch.  


  
Closing her eyes, she continued to listen to the storm raging outside the bedroom window. Was it really only a few weeks ago that she had left Hogwarts? Had she really agreed to quit school and follow Harry wherever he was going?   


  
Yes, and she would do it again.   


  
She worried, though, that their decision might have been too hasty. It was possible that they would need the safety and security of Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore had been able to carry off his search from there; surely, Professor McGonagall would allow them to do the same, if Harry just explained…  


  
Shaking her head Hermione realized that Harry would never betray the former Headmaster’s confidence. No matter how much she prodded and pleaded--they were on their own. She would find other ways to finish school and she would see that the boys did also, but leaving school wasn’t her biggest concern. She was more worried about those they would have to leave behind, worried this might be the last time she’d see them.   


  
Her mind drifted to her parents, as it seemed to do with more frequency these past weeks. She’d had only a short time with them at the start of the summer. Harry had convinced her that she needn’t accompany him to the Dursley’s, that she should instead spend some time with her parents. Ever since her fourth year, she saw them less and less. They had been understanding and had been pleased that there was a family to look after her during the summer holidays, but she knew it was hard on them sending her into a world they knew so little about and that they could not participate in.  


  
She had resolved to make those few precious weeks count. No research until her parents were in bed, no Apparating over to visit Harry and Ron. She was going to spend all the time she could with her parents. The few weeks she had with them were like reliving her childhood. She went to museums with her father and shopping in muggle London with her mother and each night they would eat dinner together like they had when she was younger. Never once did she mention her future plans.   


  
The time had flown too quickly and all too soon, she was saying her goodbyes. She’d had only three weeks with them before coming to the Burrow. Three weeks in which she tried to show them in every way she could that she loved them and she was so grateful for everything they had ever done for her--because she didn’t know when she would get to see them again.   


  
It hadn’t been enough, she thought. No matter how hard she tried it would never be enough.   


  
Time.   


  
She needed more of it. She needed more time with her parents, she needed more time in school, she needed more hours in a day and more days in a week. She yearned for a Time Turner again. If she had that time, she might be able to catch and hold onto one part of her life that seemed to be flying past her at an alarming speed.  


  
Her eyes opened and moved to the book on the night stand. Knowing that there was still more work to do, she eased herself out of bed and reached for her dressing gown. Moving as quietly as possible, so as not to wake Ginny, she shrugged her dressing gown on, leaving it untied, and searched for something to hold back her hair. Finding an abandoned elastic she moved to the mirror and pulled her hair back into a ponytail, taking a moment to view her appearance.   


  
The dark circles were becoming more and more evident as the days went on, a sure sign of the late nights she’d been keeping. She would need to remember a concealing charm for tomorrow morning in order to avoid awkward questions from Mrs. Weasley. She also noted that she seemed a little paler than she had in the past, and determined to spend a few hours outside reading tomorrow, if the storm let up. Crossing back to her bed, she reached out and retrieved the book on the floor beside it and after a moment's hesitation took her wand out from under her pillow. She wished she wasn’t so paranoid, but she knew what it meant to be unprepared; she refused to be the one that failed everyone else again.  


  
Closing the door softly behind her she made her way down the dark hallway to the staircase, briefly wondering if Mr. Weasley had made it home yet. It appeared that he had worked more late nights with the Order since the Headmaster died. He was rarely home for a meal anymore, and she had seen the looks of worry cross Mrs. Weasley’s face each time someone asked her where her husband was. Hermione had noticed the way the Weasley clock stayed with Mrs. Weasley. At first Hermione had wondered why. With all the hands pointing to ‘Mortal Peril,’ she didn’t see how it would bring any comfort. It wasn’t until Ginny explained to her that as long as they were all pointing to ‘Mortal Peril’ her mother knew nothing worse had happened to her family.   


  
Hermione stepped out of the hallway to the stairs and mentally counted each one. She had stayed at the Burrow for three of the past four summers but she still wasn’t sure which stair creaked. Either it was the fourth from the bottom or the fifth and Hermione knew she should have remembered which one was the menacing stair, but never was able to. Praying that she would remember before she woke up the entire household, Hermione started down the staircase, skipping the fifth step and breathing a sigh of relief when the fourth made no noise.   


  
She stopped at the bottom, straining to hear if she had woken anyone else up. No one in the house got the sleep they needed anymore; everyone seemed to be on edge at every moment. She counted it as a miracle that she was the only one awake tonight, especially with the storm that seemed to be gaining momentum outside.   


  
She quickly moved into the parlour and lit a small fire. The room was instantly filled with light and seemed to warm immediately. Not wanting the newfound warmth to put her to sleep, Hermione opened a window, letting a cool breeze flicker through the room, bringing the soft scent of summer rain with it. Wrapping her dressing gown more tightly she stood at the window for a moment breathing in the clean air of the storm. She watched as the rain pounded mercilessly onto the path leading to the front door and watched the mud puddles form in the grass around the house. She knew that Ron, Harry and Ginny would enjoy playing Quidditch in this weather. Those three never seemed happier than when they were muddy, wet, and flushed with exhaustion.   


  
Shaking her head as if to clear the thought, she moved to the sofa nearest the open window and settled in, opening her book to where she had left off earlier in the night. There must be something she had missed in her earlier readings. She knew the answers were in the book, but they seemed to elude her.  


  
Her hand went to move the envelope that was currently being as a bookmark, but instead removed the contents of the envelope, a small smile flickering across her face.   


  
It was the letter. __Her__ letter.   


  
She had been shocked when Pig arrived with it late one night. Panic had flooded her body. It was late, and she hadn’t heard anything from Ron or Harry in days, and then there was Pig outside her window. Her mind had immediately jumped to the worst conclusion.   


  
Her heart had stalled in her throat as she ripped the envelope open and scanned the contents of the letter. As her eyes flew over the words she sank onto her bed in disbelief. She had been expecting horrible news of another attack or Harry being plagued by nightmares but instead it was the best news of her life. She had pressed the letter to her chest and let her heart drop back to where it belonged. Then, pulling the letter back, she had re-read it, this time drinking in each word.  


  
Her eyes skimmed the letter again and she felt the blush creep up her cheeks when she got to his declaration. It didn’t matter how many times she read it, she still felt the same sense of excitement she had when she read it the first time. It amazed her that one little piece of parchment could evoke so much emotion in her. She had pulled it out so many times it was already becoming worn after only a few weeks, and she wondered if there was a charm that she could use to keep it from wearing any more.   


  
She ran her hands over the creased parchment and stared at it in wonder. How had he ever plucked up the courage to write this, let alone send it to her? She thought she would have to wait years before he ever said anything, so she had resolved herself not to try again. Her first attempt had been met with shock and then dismissal, and she had promised herself that she wouldn’t try anything else until he showed her he was ready. She had expected it would take a year or more but instead he had astounded her with this letter.   


  
“Reading it again, are you?” a familiar voice came from the doorway. She jumped, startled, and then relaxed when she realized who it was. Blushing with embarrassment at being caught, she quickly folded the letter back up and replaced it in the book. Though it was dark, she saw the smirk he wore and that only served to make her blush deepen.   


  
He had never been able to sneak up on her like this during school. There were many late nights just like this one where he would come downstairs, finding her still studying or writing what he always referred to as a “novel” to her parents. He had always attempted to startle her and was disappointed when she knew he was nearby. He was amazed at this ability and demanded of her what spell she was using and when she refused to answer he would begin to complain that she had some strange sixth sense when it came to him. Her response to this was always to smile and ask him how his homework was going, hoping that she could hide her blush and never let him know that he was closer to the truth than she felt comfortable admitting.   


  
This time though she had been so engrossed in re-reading his letter that she hadn’t even heard him come down the stairs. Just like he had on all the other nights they were alone, he gently took the book from her hand, closed it, and put it on the table.   


  
The storm seemed to grow in intensity, and she noticed that Ron was watching the rain hit the windows. She was unsure what to say to him, and wished that the fire was a little brighter so she could really see his face. As if answering her wish, a flash of lightening lit up the room and Hermione noticed that Ron’s features seemed troubled and concerned. Taking his hand, she pulled him down next to her on the sofa. It was as if they had done this same thing countless times, for he naturally placed his arm around her and she settled in to him.   


  
After a few moments of silence, Hermione took Ron’s free hand in one of her own and held it close to her. Moments like this had become more frequent since her return to the Burrow ten days ago. There had been no mention of the contents of his letter between them; it was just understood. She would hold his hand when they were out or he would guide her into the room with his hand on the small of her back. When she read at night, he would scoot in next her and put his arm around her, and before she knew it, he’d have one of her curls twirled around his finger. The changes were small and simple, and though new to them, it somehow felt familiar to Hermione.   


  
They sat there in a comfortable silence listening to the storm outside and her mind began to wander to why he was down here. It was rather late and she wondered if she had woken him up. She had tried to be so careful but knew that she still had made some noise. What if she hadn’t woken him up though? What if something was wrong?  


  
“Ron,” she whispered, finally breaking the silence, “why are you up? It’s rather late.”  


  
Her question was met by silence, and she noticed his breathing had deepened. Wondering if he had perchance dozed off for a moment she let her eyes close, thinking that maybe she too needed a little break before continuing on with her research. Leaning closer to him she felt herself begin to drift off when Ron’s hand started playing with a curl that had escaped from her ponytail.   


  
“I could ask you the same question,” he muttered.   


  
His delayed response both surprised and worried her. She searched and searched her mind for possible answers or problems that could have arisen and made him come down. _I asked first_ , was the first thought in her mind. She berated herself on the childishness of the answer. She didn’t want to start a row, not tonight. Steeling herself to answer she was surprised when he inhaled and spoke.   


  
“Harry was talking in his sleep again.” he said. She breathed a sigh of relief and was thankful at not having to answer his question yet, but then realized what Ron had just said. Hermione immediately stiffened with worry. Forgetting her own concerns, she moved her head so she could see Ron and was about to press him further when he continued.   


  
“No, it’s fine,” he added quickly, as if sensing her concern. “He was just muttering about Ginny, and no matter how much I want to see them together I didn’t want to hear that prat rattling off about my sister.” He finished with an over-exaggerated grimace.   


  
Hermione had to choke back a giggle. Overall, Ron had been very good about whatever relationship Harry and Ginny shared. He hadn’t pressed his sister about it, and he hadn’t tried to change Harry’s mind in regards to the decision he made. Ron had just been himself and tried to support both of them no matter how hard it was for him. Truth be told, Hermione was quite proud of him and his response to the situation.   


  
“So you thought you would just come down here and escape?” she questioned, taking his hand in hers and drawing circles with her thumb on his flesh.   


  
“Well, no,” he said, his fingers beginning to stroke her hand in return. “I went to go and check on you.”  


  
The last bit startled her. “Check on me?” she managed to choke out while turning around to face him.   


  
He looked so sincere and seemed to be blushing with this admittance. She wasn’t sure if he had meant to say that, but she found herself secretly pleased by the admission.  


  
“Yeah,” he said, starting to sound self-conscious. Then, as if forcing himself to continue, he added, “I do it every night.”  


  
“Oh, Ron,” she whispered. Not knowing what else to say she moved his face down to hers and kissed his cheek.   


  
She felt surprised to feel the stubble against her lips but knew that it shouldn’t have been such a shock. They were both seventeen; surely Ron shaved now. Hermione realized she must have verbalized her surprise as Ron chuckled a little and cupped her face in his hands gazing intently at her. She blushed and adverted her eyes from his, still not used to the intimacy that now existed between them.   


  
“So, are you going to answer my question now?” he asked, his voice husky, as he rubbed his thumb across her cheek. “What’s so important that it couldn’t keep until morning?”  


  
She wanted to tell him, but something kept holding her back, and she decided that vagueness was her only option.  


  
“Oh I just couldn't sleep, you know, and …well, I decided to read a bit more,” she answered. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he didn’t believe her and quickly added, “I… I didn't want to wake Ginny with the light, so I came down here.”  


  
Guilt welled inside her. He had been so honest with his answer and she had held back. She needed space between them right now, she knew Ron wouldn't let it drop at that, and the space would be good. She eased herself off the sofa and reached for her book, Ron stopped her, taking her hand and pulling her back.  


  
“I promise the letter says the same thing it did three weeks ago. It isn’t going to change,” he teased.   


  
“I know,” she muttered.  


  
“Hermione, care to tell me the real reason you’re down here?” he asked again, his voice and eyes full of worry.  


  
She loved the little changes in Ron and the changes in their relationship. Everything was new and different and wonderful. But it scared her; she had never been this open with anyone before and wasn’t sure just what to say. She thought about brushing off his question by saying she was worried about Harry, but quickly dismissed that thought.  


  
She knew she needed to tell him and wasn’t sure really why she was so nervous to let anyone else see her worries. It was as if they were hers and only hers to bear, she didn’t want to burden anyone else with them. But this was Ron and he cared for her; surely he wouldn’t make light of her concerns. Not now.  


  
She hadn’t ever told anyone about that night. She didn’t think her parents even knew she had seen and heard them. But it was that one night that kept replaying over and over in her mind ever since she left her parents’ home, as if looking for comfort in that one memory. But sitting here with Ron’s arms around her she felt protection and comfort like she hadn't felt since she was a small child.  


  
Taking a deep breath, she sighed and answered his question. “I was thinking about my parents.”  


  
“You miss them, don’t you?” he asked.  


  
“I do. I know that I need to be here. I mean, I belong here now, right? This is my life now, best friend to Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, top student at Hogwarts, Gryffindor Prefect…” She was counting them off on her fingers as if it was a list like the many other lists in her life. Her voice trailed off as she tried to regain her composure. Ron took her hand, slowly lowering each of her fingers and then turning her hand over, placing it again in his own.   


  
“You know, there are times I wish I could be a little girl again. Things were, well, they were just easier then. I didn’t have to worry about madmen after me and my friends, school was a place of learning instead of a place where I had to fight for my life,” she paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “And I always knew that my parents were right down the hall. And they could protect me from anything.”  


  
The lightening flashed even closer to the house than before and the wind seemed to pick up, making the fire flicker and dance before them. Ron drew her to his chest and began stroking her hair. She knew that since she had come this far she might as well tell him everything now. Steeling her courage, she asked the question, though she already knew the answer.  


  
“Have I ever told you why I love storms so much?”   


  
If Ron seemed startled by the abrupt change of subject, he didn’t show it. She felt Ron shake his head rather than answer vocally and mentally thanked him for this small gesture.   


  
Hermione stared into the fire and sighed, knowing that she was now committed to telling the story. “When I was six we lost the electricity one night during a storm like this.”   


  
She pulled back and noticed the bewildered look on Ron’s face. She had once explained to him about power outages, but he had never quite understood how electricity could just stop working. She smiled at him reassuringly and then continued. “I was scared. I couldn’t see anything, and the thunder kept getting louder and louder. All I wanted to do was climb into bed with my parents. I was safe there; nothing could hurt me if I was with them. But I was too scared to move.”  


  
She brought her knees up to her chest and rested her chin there before continuing in a whisper. “I waited and waited for my mum to come and get me, but… but she never came.”  


  
Sometime in the last minute, Ron started to trace small circles on her back. It was soothing and comforting. “Not wanting to wait anymore, I got out of bed and started down the hall to my parents’ room. I looked inside and saw they weren’t there.   


  
“Well you know me,” she said with a small chuckle, “I was sure that something had happened to them. I began to think of everything that could have gone wrong and where they could be.  


  
“I was so nervous, Ron,” she said, turning to him as if trying to make him understand her six-year-old self’s actions. “I hated the thunder and lightening and I couldn’t find my parents. I felt so alone and all I wanted was for someone to hold me and tell me it was all going to be okay. Does that make sense?”  


  
He smiled and nodded, still not saying anything. She was amazed, and pleased, that he seemed to understand she just wanted him to listen right now. There would be time for comments later.  


  
“I was about to call out,” she continued. “But I heard a noise coming from the main floor. Figuring it was my parents I started for the room, but paused on the stairs when I heard my mother’s laughter.”   


  
Hermione pushed some of her loose hair behind her ears and then continued, “I was upset that they seemed to have forgotten about me. I was so angry that they didn’t seem to care that I was scared.”  


  
“I was determined at that point to make myself known to them and tell them just how upset I was that they forgot about me.” She noticed Ron try to hold back a grin and shook her head. “I was going to tell them, but then… well, I heard my dad ask my mum if she ‘felt better now.’  


  
“I was surprised by the question. They were just laughing. Why would he ask her that? I stopped on one of the steps, waiting to hear what they were talking about.” She blushed at admitting to eavesdropping on her parents and rushed to explain things to Ron lest he get the wrong idea.  


  
“Things hadn’t been good at home in those past few months. My magic was beginning to show itself and there had been, well… incidents, I guess you would call them, at school.” She bit her lip before deciding to add the next bit of information. “My parents had been meeting with the school. The school had asked for my removal, referring to me as… as a trouble maker. I still remember my father demanding the proof that ‘his little girl’ had done anything that she had been accused of.”  


  
She let that last confession hang in the air. She could not believe that she had just admitted that. Yes, she had… __participated__ in some rule breaking with Ron and Harry, but she had never considered herself a trouble maker. Yet here she was confessing to Ron that her instructors had viewed her as one. She tensed, waiting for Ron to comment, to make some ill-timed joke, but it never came. Instead when she looked at him she saw understanding in his eyes.  


  
The look in his eyes gave her the confidence she needed to continue. “I’m sure all of it had put a strain on them. They had tried not to show it when I was around but I could still tell.   


  
“I was worried,” she admitted, her voice cracking as she tried to hold back the tears. “I had a classmate whose parents didn’t live together anymore, so I knew what divorce was. She lived with her mum and never saw her dad.; I… I didn’t want that to happen to me.”  


  
Ron pulled her back to him and she settled her head on his chest. “I wanted to hear what my mum’s response would be so, well... I went down to the bottom stair and leaned against the banister. I knew from where I was sitting they couldn’t see me but, er, I could see them."   


  
Hermione bit her lip before continuing. "Unfortunately, it seemed they had stopped talking, and all I could see was the two of them on the couch, my father holding my mother.”   


  
Hermione looked up at Ron, smiling a little at the image of the memory.  


  
“I wanted them to be happy, Ron.” She shook her head sadly. “But for the first time in my life I felt... that I, well... that I had let them down. It was my fault that they were so upset. I didn’t know what else to do.” She dropped her head down back into his chest.   


  
She took a deep sigh, preparing herself to continue with the story. “That night I promised myself that they would ****never**** have to worry about me again. I worked harder at everything, determined not to let them down again. Since I was six all I have ever wanted was for my parents to be happy, to be proud of me, but I always seem to fail.”  


  
A tear streamed down her cheek and she felt Ron’s finger brush it away. “You don’t fail Hermione.  


  
“You, Hermione Granger,” he whispered, raising her face up to meet his, “have never failed at anything in your life.”   


  
Sniffing, Hermione shook her head and pulled away from his embrace. “No, Ron, you don’t understand. They think I’m here for the summer and then off to school just like every year.”   


  
He shook his head as if to ask her why that was so bad but, drawing a deep breath, she continued, her voice rising slightly, “I didn’t tell them about our plans. I didn’t tell them I’m not going back to school. I didn’t tell them I’m basically running away from home.  


  
“They’re going to be so disappointed, Ron. Disappointed and worried.” Ron went to reach for her again but she pulled herself away.   


  
The rain had really started falling now, battering against roof and windowpane. Hermione moved off the couch to close the window, preventing the rain from entering the room. Reaching the window though, she stood transfixed, watching the storm beat against the ground and feeling the wind blow through her hair. Closing her eyes she tried to compose herself, but failed miserably. She sensed Ron come up behind her before she felt his arms on her shoulders. Leaning back against him, she felt him place his chin on her head and pull her closer to his chest.   


  
“I promised myself that day I would never do anything that might disappoint them again,” she whispered, more to herself than Ron.   


  
Hermione wasn’t sure how long they stood there watching the storm. Her only coherent thought was she felt safe when she was with Ron, safer than she had felt in a long time. Secretly, she wished this moment could go on forever but knew that it was impossible. Lost in her thoughts, she was startled when Ron whispered, “You could never disappoint them Hermione.”  


  
“I already have.”  


  
“No, Hermione, you haven't. You were never a failure or a disappointment. Never.” Hermione was startled at how adamant he was in his comments. Turning to look back at Ron, her shock increased as she noticed the determination etched on his face.  


  
“No matter what comes of all this, of this war, what we are going into, they’ll look at you and see… well blimey, they’ll see the strong woman you are.” His voice had risen and she took a step back to look at him. In the firelight, she could tell that he was blushing but he held her gaze, his eyes telling her that he meant every word.   


  
“Hermione,” he started again, running his hand through his hair as if he was suddenly nervous. “I wish I knew how to make you understand it, how to make _you_ see it --what everyone else sees. What _I_ see." This last part was said with a little hesitance on his part, as he took another step towards her and rubbed her arms gently.  


  
This new side of Ron still shocked Hermione a little, and secretly she missed the boy that stumbled over his words, swore too much, and didn’t know how to cope with his own feelings, let alone with someone else’s. This new Ron was the Ron that only _she_ got to see, the Ron she had seen glimpses of during prefect rounds, the Ron that was just for her. She smiled a little, bringing her eyes to meet his, surprised with the depth of feeling she saw there. He really did believe in her and she knew at that moment that everything he said was true.   


  
Reaching out, she stroked his cheek and then kissed him lightly. “Thank you, Ron.”   


  
They stood there for a few minutes, arms wrapped around one another, watching the storm outside. Hermione knew it was late and that she really should suggest that they go to bed, but before she could suggest it Ron spoke, “Hermione, what happened that night with your parents? Did they ever find you?”  


  
She momentarily forgot about the story and looked up at Ron, his eyes wide with curiosity. She turned back to the window, feeling the cool breeze against her face, tracing one of the raindrops that streaked the windowpane. She could still see every detail of that night. Her father had whispered something to her mother and her mother had nodded. Then her father offered his hand and her mother took it. Drawing her into his arms, her father began to hum a favorite song and sway. A small smile flickered across her face and she whispered, “They danced.”  


  
She felt Ron’s arms go around her waist and he again rested his chin on the top of her head. “They danced?”  


  
“Yes,” she said quietly. “Right there in the parlour, with the storm raging outside, they danced. I knew then that no matter what happened, everything was going to be okay.”   


  
She continued watching the rain against the window, leaning against Ron and feeling more relaxed than she had let herself feel in months. She felt him brush her hair away from her ear and lean closer to her, softly whispering, “Dance with me.”  


  
It had sounded more like a statement than a question. Hermione turned in his arms to see if he had meant it. He looked back at her and quirked an eyebrow, waiting for her response. Speech escaped her and all she could do was nod her head as he drew her into him. She rested her head on his chest as his arms held her tight. She could hear his heart beating as they swayed back and forth. Ron was absently playing with one of her longer curls and she knew that no matter what happened, as long as they were together they could overcome anything.   


  
\-----  


  
He hadn’t meant to intrude on such a private moment but at the same time, he was drawn to it. When he’d awoken and found the bed across from him empty, he’d figured Ron had gone for a drink of water or to the loo. When Ron didn’t return he began to get worried and went in search of his friend.   


  
He had been drawn to the voices and the flicker of light in the parlour and planned on joining his friends, but stopped when he saw them cuddled on the sofa. Although aware of the change in their relationship, he was still surprised to see them this close. Not wanting to make his presence known, yet not able to turn away, he sank down on the step and just watched them taking comfort in each other. It was nice to know that even with the darkness that had descended around them there were still some glimmers of hope.   


  
He knew she was there before she sat down. He always seemed to know when she walked into the room and he took comfort in her presence. He wasn’t sure what they were now, they had been civil to one another, almost friendly at times, but there was still the underlying sadness in their relationship that neither seemed to be able to overcome.   


  
She sat on the stair behind him and he moved so he was leaning against her legs. Absently, her hand moved to his hair and she began to run her fingers through it. This was a rare moment. One that they would pretend hadn’t happened in the morning. Neither said anything. But together, they took comfort in the couple dancing below and waited for the tomorrow they were all fighting for.  
  



End file.
